


Patron Saint of Soldiers

by shadowen



Series: All Stories Have Monsters [5]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Autistic Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Established Relationship, Found Family, Genderfluid Nicky, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Lots of Hurt, M/M, Nazis, Not a lot of comfort, Open Relationships, POV Outsider, Pining, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen
Summary: Nico became Nicky became... the same as he ever was. Nicky was the kind smile, the gentle voice, and the open and honest heart, without whom Sebastien - and, he suspected, everyone else - would simply go mad.In the twentieth century, Nicky became something else.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: All Stories Have Monsters [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087286
Comments: 22
Kudos: 107





	Patron Saint of Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Goddess of Victory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034372) by [shadowen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen). 



> Companion piece to "Goddess of Victory", with references to "After and Forever".
> 
> Thanks to lafseanchai and Fuinixe for beta. <3

####  **Baranovichi, 1813**

Sebastien’s interest in men had always been... hypothetical.

He appreciated the appearance of a strong body, whatever the person’s sex, and thought of pleasure as a utilitarian part of life, to be pursued as needed and acquired as easily as possible. In his youth, willing women were easier to come by than men with the same interest, and after marriage, he was never tempted to stray from his saintly wife, who he adored without reservation.

Becoming immortal changed his perspective about many things.

His first encounter with his new family, outside of the strange dreams, was waking with a start beneath a pile of blankets, warm for the first time in what felt like years.

“It’s alright. You’re safe, now,” said a gentle voice. The words were French, soaked in a light accent that sounded of bright sunlight and calm seas. 

Sebastien blinked to clear his vision, and was immediately greeted by the largest, sharpest eyes he had ever seen in his life. The owner of the eyes - and presumably of the gentle voice - was a young man with features like a Roman statue and a smile as fleeting as morning mist. Though Sebastien had seen this face in his dreams, the shock of finding it so close to his own kept him from recognizing it until the young man spoke again.

“Do you think you can eat something?”

It took a moment for the words to register, and Sebastien nodded slowly, hauling himself upright in bed as the young man retrieved a bowl of broth from a nearby table. Another man sat in a chair across the room, and a tall woman stood beside the roaring fireplace, both of them staring at Sebastien with interest. 

Taking the bowl from the young man, Sebastien looked back into those impossible eyes and said, stupidly, “Nicolò?”

The young man’s faint smile brightened into something more substantial, but before he could reply, the other man laughed and said something in a language Sebastien couldn’t begin to identify. The young man - Nicolò - rolled his eyes and told Sebastien, “Yes. Nico, if you prefer. This is Andromache, and that ass is my beloved Yusuf.”

Slowly, they explained to Sebastien who they were and how they had found him, though the explanations only raised more questions. The more they spoke, the more he recalled from his dreams, and he found that he knew certain things instinctively, as if he had overheard it in a half-remembered conversation. One of the things he remembered first was that he knew Nico’s name because he had dreamed of Yusuf moaning it in the throes of passion.

Though his new family gave him a sense of purpose and fellowship he could never have expected, the necessary divide between this new life and the old one became more difficult as time made it wider, and he found himself confiding all of his uncertainties to Nico, who listened with infinite patience and counselled him with compassion and understanding. His beloved wife died, his precious baby boys followed, and Nico was the one who held Sebastien while he sobbed, every time.

####  **Schœnenbourg, 1919**

Andromache became Andy became his captain, his sister, the one person he would follow to the gates of hell without a moment’s thought. Yusuf became Joe became his comrade, his brother, the dearest friend he had ever known, for whom he would die a hundred times over. Nico became Nicky became... the same as he ever was. Nicky was the kind smile, the gentle voice, and the open and honest heart, without whom Sebastien - and, he suspected, everyone else - would simply go mad.

In the twentieth century, Nicky became something else.

It started after the Great War. The four of them were packed into a safe house whose amenities consisted of a leaky roof, four mostly intact walls, and a fireplace, deciding on a course of action after the armistice. Despite the inhospitable lodgings, it was a pleasant period, marked by an unusual mood of possibility and hope. Andy came and went like a feral cat, as was her habit, while Sebastien spent most days hunting and foraging in the lush woods that surrounded the little cabin. Nicky and Joe put their efforts into improving the house and their supplies, fixing what they could and replacing what they couldn’t.

On one particular day, Sebastien had gone out hunting only to be caught in an unexpected downpour. Pulling his coat tightly around him, he trudged back toward the cabin, grumbling and trying to keep the powder in his pockets from getting as soaked at the rest of him. Andy had been away for the past day or so, and he expected to find the cabin quiet, maybe filled with the smell of something cooking or the scrape of blades being cleaned and sharpened.

Instead, the sound that greeted Sebastien when he opened the door was a loud moan, and the smell was unmistakeably that of sex.

In the close quarters they shared, it was inevitable that he had more than once been witness to Nicky and Joe’s love-making, usually as noises through a thin wall or the rustle of blankets across a campsite. This was the first time Sebastien had seen them fully, and his interest in men abruptly became much less hypothetical.

Joe was lying on his back on the bedroll they shared, his hands braced on Nicky’s thighs as Nicky rode him slowly, grinding down hard against his hips. Nicky had one hand wrapped around his own cock, not stroking, just holding, his stomach muscles tensing with every movement, while his other hand was planted on Joe’s chest, keeping himself steady and holding Joe down. 

The expression of intense focus on Nicky’s face was as sharp and serene as a polished sword, and when he looked up...

Oh, _Christ_. Nicky looked up, and his inescapable eyes met Sebastien’s. 

Standing in the open door, intruding on his brothers in a private moment, caught flat-footed and open-mouthed, Nicky _looked_ at him, and all the blood in Sebastien’s head rushed right to his cock.

Nicky’s eyes fell back to Joe, and he said something that was inaudible over the driving rain and the slap of flesh. Whatever it was made Joe groan loudly and start fucking up desperately into Nicky, who glanced back to Sebastien with a wicked grin that was completely out of place on Nicky’s gentle features.

All Sebastien could do was watch, paralyzed, as Nicky started to stroke himself in time with Joe’s thrusts.

Nicky came first, closing his eyes in ecstasy as he pumped his release onto Joe’s chest, and Joe followed immediately, pulling Nicky’s ass down against him as he arched his back and cried out.

Sebastien’s cock pulsed, leaking precome into his trousers.

When Nicky leaned down to kiss Joe, fierce and possessive, the spell holding Sebastien in place suddenly broke. The realization of what he was doing - what he had done - struck him with a wash of bitter humiliation, and he walked back out into the rain, slamming the door behind him.

In the shelter of a dense tree, he pulled out his cock and stroked roughly until he came, thinking helplessly of Nicky’s big hands and wicked smile.

####  **Berlin, 1922**

Sebastien convinced himself that the appeal of what he had witnessed between Nicky and Joe lay entirely in the joining of two beautiful bodies and was not indicative of a specific desire for either of them. He did not speak of it and behaved as if nothing had occurred, so there was no one to challenge this conclusion. The next time an opportunity presented itself, he went to bed with an attractive young man, who patiently guided Sebastien through his lack of experience and provided a wonderfully enlightening evening.

Simple as that, Sebastien thought, until they arrived in Berlin.

When Joe first tried to explain the situation, Sebastien, to his shame, was utterly confused.

“How can a person be a man most of the time and a woman sometimes?”

“I don’t know how, he just... is,” Joe said, clearly becoming frustrated. “It’s hard to explain. Just... I think it will make more sense when you see her.”

 _Her_. Sebastien, who had a very specific memory of seeing Nicky’s cock, could not imagine any scenario in which he would see long-limbed, broad-shouldered Nicky as _her_ , no matter how he dressed up.

“I’m sorry. I really don’t understand.”

Joe sighed. “Listen, you don’t need to understand, you just need to know that this is important to Nicky, and if you say or do anything to make her feel like anything less than the divine being she is, I will tie a brick to your balls and make you walk until they fall off. Do you understand _that_?”

It wasn’t the threat that cleared Sebastien’s confusion, though that certainly got his attention, it was the thought that his ignorance might hurt Nicky. If Nicky wanted to be treated like a woman, then Sebastien would treat him like a queen.

“I’d rather cut out my tongue than say anything cruel to Nicky, you know that,” he said, and Joe gave him a relieved smile.

“I know, _frérot_. I just...” Joe sighed again and spread his hands helplessly.

“You want everything to be perfect for him. Her.” That much, Sebastien definitely understood.

Joe loved Nicky in a way that could be hard to look at. His love was like the sun, intense and blinding, creating its own gravity and heat. Standing beside it sometimes made Sebastien feel like he was burning alive. 

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he promised Joe. “And if anyone else is rude to h- _her_ , I’ll remove his balls on your behalf.”

Beaming, Joe clapped his shoulders and kissed his cheeks. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Always,” Sebastien said, and he meant it.

No amount of imagination could have prepared him for the moment Nicky stepped into the hotel lobby on the night in question.

He might have been biased. He might have been shocked. He might even, Sebastien would later admit to himself, have been a little bit in love already.

What he definitely was, when he saw Nicky in her red lipstick and redder heels, was speechless.

She wasn’t different, exactly. Nicky was unique and unmistakable in any kind of clothes, at least to Sebastien’s eyes, and this was very much still the Nicky he had always known. What had always read as quiet confidence was now demure poise, and the strong Roman features became striking and otherworldly under the artful application of makeup. She was like a beautiful hillside he had only ever seen in spring, now appearing before him in the brilliant bloom of summer.

Swallowing past the sudden dryness in his throat, Sebastien eventually managed to say, “Holy Christ, Nicky.”

She looked up at him with a strange, shy smile. Nicky was many things, but Sebastien had never known _shy_ to be one of them.

“I don’t know what I expected,” he went on. “But... you look incredible.”

The flush that blossomed on Nicky’s face was among the most beautiful things Sebastien had ever seen, and her smile lit up like a flash of lightning, so intense that it left afterimages across his vision. No wonder Joe never took his eyes off of her. If there was a chance of seeing that smile again, Sebastien might not be able to stop looking, himself.

He had danced with Nicky many times before, mostly because Nicky loved to dance while Joe had no sense of rhythm. Tonight was different. Tonight, Nicky was lighter and brighter and so _so_ beautiful that Sebastien would have let his heart be crushed under her heel and counted himself fortunate.

“You look like you’re having the time of your life,” he told her, just to see her smile grow.

“I really am,” she said, soft and sincere.

“Honestly, so am I,” he said, and it was true. “It’s been a very long time since I danced with such a beautiful woman.”

“Stop it,” Nicky huffed and looked away from him, blushing.

Sebastien ducked his head to catch her eyes - her incredible, soul-spearing eyes - and said sincerely, “I’m serious, _cherie_ , you look stunning.” 

Every time he paid her a compliment, she smiled as if she’d never received one before, which he knew for a fact wasn’t true, but it warmed him to know she was enjoying his attention.

“ _Grazie, fratellino,"_ she said. “That... I can’t begin to tell you what that means to me.”

Ah. There it was. The reminder that he was her sweet _fratellino_ , her doting little brother. Never in a thousand years would Sebastien balk at Nicky’s love and affection, whatever form it took, but, in this moment, it stung just the slightest bit that he would be forever her brother and never anything else.

When a young man with wild blonde hair asked for a dance with Sebastien, he let himself be led away, handing Nicky over to Andy, who was worse at dancing than Joe but seemed to enjoy it more. After a few more turns around the dance floor, keeping a cautious eye on Nicky, Sebastien decided it was time for a stiff drink and joined Joe at a small table.

“You know you’re the luckiest bastard that ever lived, don’t you?” he said, and Joe laughed like a man who had never known sorrow.

“I really am,” he agreed, watching Nicky as she swayed with a man who was much shorter and looked much older.

Sebastien watched her, too, and he wondered if Joe noticed and adored the same features that he did. Did Joe also catch himself staring at the perfect Cupid’s bow of her lips? Did Joe also thrill every time her luminous eyes happened to sweep across him? Was Joe also hypnotized by the graceful movement of her red leather heels?

After nine hundred years, Joe had probably memorized and worshiped every last inch of Nicky’s body and knew her movements as intimately as the beating of his own heart. 

Sebastien wasn’t jealous, truly. Envious, yes. But not jealous.

“If I had someone like Nicky, I don’t think I’d let them dance with anyone else,” he observed.

It was a foolish thing to say, but Joe just smiled fondly. “She likes to dance. I don’t. Why would I ever deny my beloved any pleasure?”

He wouldn’t, of course. Joe would never deny Nicky anything, no matter the cost, because he loved entirely without selfishness. Sebastien said, “If it were me, I would learn to like dancing.”

Joe gave him a curious look. He seemed about to say something, but a lovely young thing swept over and begged Sebastien for a dance before they could exchange another word. Sebastien accepted gladly, and he danced only with his new friend for the rest of the night.

The lovely young thing asked to be called Sigi and told Sebastien that they didn’t feel right as either a man or a woman, but rather something in between. All that mattered to Sebastien was that they had soft hands and liquid brown eyes and made him laugh. It was Sebastien who suggested they could go elsewhere, and it was Sebastien who knelt on the cold wood floor in Sigi’s little flat, offering up his mouth to give them all the pleasure they could stand.

When he returned to the hotel in the morning, and Joe told him that the club had been raided, that they had narrowly escaped, that Nicky’s first impulse had been to fight off the police with a cocktail glass, Sebastien felt sick. 

####  **Arles, 1941**

If he had given it any real, honest thought, Sebastien would have realized that the suggestion to have Nicky pose as his sister to distract the Nazi supply officer was a tremendously bad idea. Not because it was dangerous, which it was, or because Nicky couldn’t pass as a woman, which she could, but because it led to Sebastien spending many hours with Nicky in the small cab of his truck, near enough to smell the rose fragrance of her perfume and to hear the soft shift of her wool stockings when she crossed her legs.

Of course, if he had given it any real, honest thought any time in the past twenty years, he would have admitted to himself just how much he wanted to spend hours being near to Nicky, man or woman, and that was not a truth he was ready to face.

As it was, those hours were among the best he had ever spent. Nicky told him many things, mostly stories from long before Sebastien was born, but what sent his head spinning was the revelation, not only that she sometimes made love with other men, but that Joe allowed and even encouraged such infidelity.

“Another man may touch me for a moment, but it is only a moment. I will never belong to anyone but Joe,” she said, as if she were speaking of lending out books instead of her body.

Sebastien wondered if those other men had any idea how blessed they were for those moments. “I don’t think I’d like that, if I were him.”

“If he did not like it, I would not do it, but he does like it, so I do what I want,” Nicky replied.

“He likes it?” Sebastien asked in disbelief.

“He likes to watch.”

Sebastien nearly ran the truck off the road. It took all of his focus to keep his hands firmly on the wheel and his eyes forward.

Nicky studied him for a moment, her calm expression unreadable, and Sebastien could feel her sharp green eyes on his face. Finally, she asked, “Do you remember that day at the cabin? When you saw Joe and I together?”

In the steadiest voice he could manage, Sebastien answered, “I remember.”

“Why did you leave?”

He glanced at her in surprise. “I... It was a private moment. I was intruding.”

“If you had been intruding, we would have stopped,” Nicky pointed out. “If you had stayed a moment more, we would have asked you to join us.”

So many times, Sebastien had wondered about that very possibility, but he had written it off as a wild dream. Surely, Nicky and Joe were so completely enveloped in each other that they would never admit another person to their bed. Even if they ventured out on occasion, as some couples did, surely they would not want Sebastien, who they thought of as a brother. Surely Nicky, who had Joe to provide all the love and devotion a person could want, would never seek out a lover.

Now Sebastien wondered, if he had not been such a coward, would he have known the privilege of Nicky’s touch? 

Visiting the Nazi camp was never a pleasant experience, and neither the rain nor the supply officer making doe eyes at Nicky did anything to help Booker’s mood or to make him less distracted. Once they were back in the truck and on their way back to the village, Nicky pulled Sebastien’s private flask out of his bag and poured some of the brandy into her mouth, only to open the window and spit it out. Then she took two heavy swallows and put the flask away, scowling.

When she saw Sebastien watching her, she explained flatly, “He kissed me.”

Sebastien slammed on the breaks. If that fascist pig had the nerve to put his filthy hands on Nicky without permission, then Sebastien was going to go back and break every single one of his fingers. Ready to turn the wheel, he snarled, “That motherfucking bastard. I’ll k-”

“Drive, _deficiente_!” Nicky snapped in disgust. “Get us away from here.”

He obeyed, but not without a few grumbled curses and angry glances behind them. Beside him, Nicky wrapped her arms around herself as if she was suddenly cold, and Sebastien’s heart broke. “Are you alright?”

“Of course. It just surprised me,” Nicky said. _Of course_. Not once in more than a century had Sebastien ever heard Nicky admit to being anything less than perfectly fine.

“You have been flirting with him for weeks.” Sebastien regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, and Nicky looked at him sharply. “Which absolutely does not excuse his actions.”

He couldn’t help but look at Nicky as he added, foolishly, “But I can’t blame him for wanting to.”

Suddenly, the steering wheel jerked in Sebastien’s hands as the truck hit a slick patch of mud and lurched to the side. He struggled to get it under control, but it was no use. The truck careened sideways and slid off of the road into the swampy ditch. Even as he pressed the gas, Sebastien knew it was hopeless. They were stuck.

He swore angrily, but Nicky, ever practical, just sighed and climbed out of the truck into the rain. She was only outside for a few seconds, but by the time she got back in, she was completely soaked. 

“The mud is too deep,” she said, stripping off her wet jumper and boots. “We’ll have to wait for another vehicle, or at least for the rain to stop.”

Her dark hair hung just past her jaw, tangled and dripping onto her broad shoulders, which seemed much bigger without the oversized jumper to hide them. The brassière that held her false breasts was still hidden under a light cotton shirt, so her shape was now drifting somewhere in between the masculine and feminine. 

She was breathtaking.

Sebastien didn’t realize he was staring until Nicky looked at him, and then he was caught in the deep sea of her eyes, unable to look away.

He wanted to ask if he could kiss her, but he could barely breathe, much less speak. Instead, he moved slowly toward her, hoping she would understand. A part of him even hoped that she would stop him. If she stopped him, then he would know this was impossible, and he could move on. If she said no, then they could be brothers again, and Sebastien could stop dreaming of things he could not have. 

She didn’t stop him.

Her lips were soft. She tasted of brandy and rainwater. He put his hand to her cheek, and it was cold. If ever there was a fae creature come to torment the senses of simple men, that creature was Nicky.

When they broke apart with a sigh, Sebastien finally managed to make words come out of his mouth. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Nicky’s smile was like the first small ray of sunlight after a storm. “I know.”

He kissed her again, harder, and she returned the kiss with unexpected ferocity. Suddenly, she was moving closer, climbing across the bench seat until she was straddling his lap, surrounding him with her damp skin and lean muscles. He gasped, and she pulled back, frowning in concern.

“Is this alright?” she asked, as if being this close to Nicky could ever be anything but perfect.

“Yes. Yes, it’s...” Sebastien shook his head, trying to think through the thick haze of lust in his brain. “I just... Joe...?”

Nicky smiled gently. “Joe will be delighted.”

Sebastien felt positive that was an overstatement. At best, he thought Joe would tolerate sharing Nicky’s affection with someone he trusted. Even so, Sebastien wasn’t about to argue, not with Nicky pressed against him, not with nothing but layers of cloth separating his cock from hers.

Slowly, cautiously, he set his hands on her legs, just above her bent knees, and began to slide them up the outside of her thighs, rucking up her loose skirt as he went. The texture of her stockings felt strange under his palms, an ephemeral barrier like a magic ward to keep him from touching her skin. As his hands reached her strong hips and silk underwear, she rocked against him, pressing their groins together with just enough pressure to make Sebastien’s breath catch in his throat.

Nicky smiled and kissed him again, her mouth hot and open against his. Tentative, Sebastien slid his hands around to her backside. He squeezed, and she moaned quietly into his mouth. He squeezed again and shifted his hips so that their covered cocks rubbed together, and Nicky gripped his shoulders with a gasp, grinding into him.

Sweet Christ, she was going to ruin him.

She drew back just enough that she could reach down between them to open his trousers, lips flushed and parted, her heavy-lidded eyes fixed on his. When her rough fingers wrapped around his cock, her calluses struck like matches on the sensitive skin, and Sebastien thought he was going to catch fire. He let his head fall back, groaning and trying to catch his breath, and Nicky took the opportunity to kiss and bite along the column of his throat, sucking bruises against his pulse.

Desperately, he wished those marks would stay. He wished she would carve her name into his chest like a sacred scar. He wished he could tattoo her finger prints into a collar around his neck and follow at her side like a dog. In that moment, he wished for nothing in the world so much as to be Nicky’s loyal bitch. 

She held his cock in a loose grip and stroked slowly, just enough to have him painfully hard and leaking, not nearly enough to bring him to the edge.

“Oh, god, Nicky, _please_ ,” he moaned. He didn’t know what he was begging for, just that he wanted _more_.

Nicky wrapped her free hand around the back of his neck and scraped her blunt fingernails across the knots of his spine, keeping up the maddening strokes on his cock without missing a beat. “What is it, _mon chère_? Tell me what you need.”

“I... I need... “ Sebastien’s senses were filled with the scent of roses and sex. He lifted his head and found Nicky’s eyes, all her intense attention focused entirely on him. “I want to touch you. Please.”

She drew in a breath, pupils pulsing wide, and Sebastien watched her throat move, swallowing, before she said, “ _Sì_. Yes. Touch me.”

With his hands hidden by the folds of her skirt, Sebastien slid his palms off of her backside, over her hips and down until he felt the hot, rigid line of her cock trapped beneath the thin fabric of her underwear. He thought about ripping the delicate silk. If he had been in a position to get his mouth on her, he might have torn through it with his teeth. Silk was a scarce luxury, though, and he had enough presence of mind to realize Nicky might not appreciate him destroying her clothes. 

Besides, if Nicky wanted him to be rough, she would tell him. Until then, he would give her all the care and reverence she deserved.

Gently, he slipped his fingers under the waistband and pulled the pants down, down, down, until Nicky’s hard cock sprang free, and she closed her eyes with a sigh.

Sebastien replaced her hand on his cock with his own, wrapping his fingers around both of them so that every movement stroked them both. Carefully, he pushed back the foreskin of Nicky’s cock, so the sensitive head was exposed, bumping against Sebastien’s. Nicky moaned and pressed their foreheads together. She put her arms around Sebastien’s neck and started to move her hips, dragging her cock up and down in the circle of his hand, rubbing her length against his.

He breathed in as she breathed out, chests heaving in counterpoint, perfectly timed with the movement of her hips. Sebastien tightened his grip around their cocks, and Nicky’s rhythm stuttered. She pressed her face into his neck with a whine and started to move faster, making the head of Sebastien’s cock rub mercilessly against the underside of hers. With his free hand, Sebastien gripped her thigh and felt her muscles moving under his palm.

There was nothing in the world but Nicky. There was no sensation but the slide of her cock and the clench of her fingers on his back. There was no sound but the soft frantic breaths as she panted open-mouthed into the crook of his neck. There was no smell but the aroma of roses and the heavy scent of sex.

Sebastien’s orgasm hit him like a punch in the gut, sudden and so hard that he couldn’t move or breathe until the initial spasm had passed. Nicky cried out and bit down on his neck, bringing one of her hands under her skirt so that both their hands were tight on her cock when she came, seconds later, her teeth still digging into Sebastien’s skin.

In the afterglow, with their breaths slowing and the world coming back into focus, Sebastien put his free arm around Nicky and held her close. He savored the heat of her, the coiled strength of her body, the wild beating of her heart. Any moment, she would pull away. She would climb off of him and clean herself up, and that would be it. They would go back to the damp little apartment, and she would tell Joe all the details of how she fucked Sebastien in the truck on the side of the road.

He just wanted one more second to hold her, one more second to pretend that he deserved to have any part of her, one more second before he had to let go.

Sure enough, when her breathing had settled, she sat back and gave him a soft, satisfied smile, then she kissed him more gently than he could ever remember having been kissed before. She used the edge of her skirt to wipe up their spend and kissed him again before she moved off of him and sat back on the bench seat. 

Now, Sebastien thought. Now she would smile and thank him and say something kind and subtly remind him that this could never happen again, because no matter how big Nicky’s heart was, it belonged entirely to Joe.

Then, a miracle occurred.

Once they had both returned their clothes to a more dignified state, Nicky pressed close against him on the seat and leaned her head on his shoulder with a quiet hum. 

Sebastien froze. He was dreaming. He was hallucinating. He was dying his final death, and this was the blessed dream of heaven before eternal damnation.

Nicky must have felt him tense, because she asked gently, “Is this alright?”

It was perfect. It was exquisite. It was a comfort he did not know he needed. “Y-yes. Yes, this is lovely.”

He put his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her still damp hair, and he let himself be at peace for a little while longer.

####  **Ghādamis, 1943**

It was unusual for the four of them to split up for more than a few days on a job and even more unusual for Nicky and Joe to separate, but sometimes circumstances required a specific division of skill sets. So it was that Sebastien spent six days in an abandoned farm house on the Algerian border with, predictably, Nicky.

They slept and kept watch in shifts, patrolled the surrounding area, and otherwise tried to pass the time playing cards or reading the battered French copy of _Murder on the Orient Express_ that Sebastien happened to have in his pack. Nicky sometimes wrote in a small notebook Sebastien thought might be Joe’s, probably penning romantic letters to be read aloud when the two were reunited. They spoke little more than was necessary and gave each other as much space as possible.

Sebastien’s mood grew worse by the day.

On the fourth day, anxious for a release from the tension, Sebastien went to patrol by himself and, predictably, fell into a ravine.

He returned later than intended, covered in dirt and blood, and Nicky greeted him with an expression of alarm.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Nicky asked, reaching to help Sebastien out of his coat.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sebastien grumbled and shrugged off Nicky’s hands. “Took a fall.”

He could feel Nicky frowning at him as he stripped off his soiled clothes. They would need to be cleaned, but nothing was beyond repair. When Nicky reached out to take them from him, Sebastien snatched them back.

Nicky’s frown deepened. “I was just going t-”

“I can do it,” Sebastien snapped.

This was Nicky, always caring and doting, and with no one else to fuss over, all his mothering was focused on Sebastien. Another time, he might have appreciated it, even enjoyed it, but that was before Arles, before the camp, before Sebastien saw the cold-blooded monster that lived inside of Nicky.

Nicky picked up the water bucket, and Sebastien grabbed it from him impatiently. Sebastien was a grown man, who could wash his own damn clothes, and an immortal soldier, who didn’t need a nursemaid to tend his non-existent wounds. He stormed out of the little hut toward the water pump, muttering to himself in English, just because he knew Nicky would hate it.

No sooner had he taken two steps from the door than he felt like an ass. 

He rinsed his clothes the best he could and hung them from a tree to dry, then scrubbed his skin clear of dirt and blood, including some that was horribly matted in his hair. Cleaner, colder, and considerably more humble, he returned to the hut to find Nicky sitting in a corner with an unreadable expression and the thickest of their blankets laid out beside the newly kindled fire.

Sebastien sighed, mostly in shame at himself, and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Sitting down near the fire, he told Nicky, “I’m sorry. I should not have lost my temper.”

Nicky hummed and drew his knees up to his chest, his clear eyes distant, and said nothing.

“Four days of nothing but waiting has frayed my nerves. You understand,” Sebastien said, hoping for some acknowledgement. He did not think Nicky was angry, but he also knew that Nicky’s rage remained silent until the moment it struck.

“I understand,” Nicky replied quietly.

It was not forgiveness, but it would do. Sebastien reached for the frayed deck of cards that had provided most of their entertainment. “Perhaps a game to settle us, eh?”

Nicky did not answer, but he picked up the cards Sebastien dealt him and played his first hand.

After a few turns, Nicky finally said, “Can we talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Sebastien kept his tone casual and his eyes on the cards.

“About the reason you’ve barely looked at me in more than a year.”

Sebastien forced himself to look up, to meet Nicky’s piercing eyes and say, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Once upon a time in the south of France, stuck in the mud on the side of the road, Nicky had told Sebastien about the beginning of his immortal life, of the atrocities he had committed as an invader, of the violence he had done to Joe, of the consuming despair that had followed him away from Jerusalem, and finally of the peace he found with Joe and within himself. He had told all these things because Sebastien had asked, and Nicky was nothing if not honest. The man in the story was not the man Sebastien knew, though, and he couldn’t reconcile the one with the other.

Then came the camp, the torture, and the slaughter, and Sebastien had realized that he knew nothing.

Even now, he couldn’t look at Nicky’s face without seeing the bloody blank expression that came after six hours of being brutalized by Nazis. 

Nicky narrowed his eyes. “Booker.”

Sebastien swallowed and looked back to his cards. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Sebastien, please.”

“What do you want me to say?” Sebastien grumbled.

He refused to look back up. He knew what Nicky’s face would look like, open and pleading, just like he knew what Nicky looked like when he truly laughed and what he looked like when he came. If Sebastien looked up, though, all he would see would be cold eyes in a mask of blood.

“Anything,” Nicky said. “Please, just... If I’ve done something...”

“No, no, you haven’t...” Sebastien sighed. “It’s nothing, Nicky, really.”

“It’s not. It’s not nothing. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.” There was a thin crack in Nicky’s voice Sebastien had never heard before.

Sebastien still didn’t dare look up. He didn’t need to see if Nicky’s expression was as fragile as his voice, if his killer’s eyes were wide and vulnerable. He could still hear the flat echo of Nicky’s last words to a dying Nazi, the empty tone and the steel ring of his sword in the air.

Those men had deserved their deaths, and Sebastien could have made peace with it if he thought Nicky had felt _anything_ in killing them.

After a moment, Nicky said quietly, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to push. I just want to understand.”

So did Sebastien, honestly. He didn’t understand how kind and gentle Nicky, who would catch pickpockets in the act only to give them all the cash he had, could tear through armed men like paper and never show any hint of rage or regret. He didn’t understand how beautiful Nicky, who loved with his entire being and never asked anything for himself, could have once tried to rape the man he now called beloved.

“Give me time,” Sebastien told Nicky, finally, honestly. “Everything that happened in Arles... I just need time to sort it out.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Nicky nod. “ _Sì. Sì._ Of course. I’m sorry. I sh-”

“Don’t. Please. I’ve been an ass.” Sebastien forced himself to look up, and still he saw the blood like a shadow on Nicky’s face. “I’m sorry for being such miserable company.”

Nicky gave him a small smile and teased, “You’re always miserable company.”

Eventually, Sebastien thought, he would learn to reconcile the kind man with the cold-blooded monster, and things would become settled between them. For now, they would play cards and wait for the family to be together again.

####  **Maastricht, 2018**

Sebastien really didn’t want to kill Copley. He liked Copley, respected him, had even enjoyed working with him, and the last thing the world needed was the death of another good man. When Copley called him out of nowhere and claimed to know the truth, Sebastien hoped there was some way out of this that didn’t involve murder.

They met at a pub near the train station, and Sebastien made a point of arriving first and getting well into a bottle of cheap brandy before Copley joined him.

“Congratulations, you figured it out. What do you want?”

Deadly serious, Copley leaned in and said, “I want to know _how_.”

Sebastien snorted. Of course. “How about money? Honestly, that’s about all I can offer you.”

“What do you mean?” Copley asked, taken aback.

“I mean, I can’t tell you how or why or what for.” In the back of Sebastien’s head, a voice said, _To put some good into the world_ , and it was Nicky’s voice. It was always Nicky’s voice. “What I can do is pay you to keep your mouth shut and destroy your research, with the understanding that you and I will never speak again, and I won’t tell the others about this conversation.”

“Are there more than just the four of you?”

Sebastien raised an eyebrow. “You think it would take more than that to make you disappear?”

That actually made Copley pause. He’d seen what they were capable of. He knew perfectly well that taking out one man would only be an annoyance for them, no matter how well he hid. Hell, one of them could probably get it done in an afternoon.

“Listen. You’re a smart guy, James. I like you,” Sebastien told him honestly. “So trust me when I say you don’t want to poke this bear any more than you already have.”

Copley’s face went still in a way that reminded Sebastien of Nicky, outwardly implacable while internally calculating a multitude of variables. Finally, Copley asked, “You really have no idea how it works?”

Sebastien shook his head and took another swallow of his drink. “Nope.”

“And you’re not at all curious?” Copley pressed. “You’ve never even tried to get answers?”

“How exactly would you suggest we go about investigating this remarkable phenomenon?” Sebastien countered. “Ask the medical community at large for their theories?”

“You could find scientists to work with th-”

“No.” 

“But th-”

“ _No_.”

Copley sighed. He sat back in his chair and studied Sebastien for a long moment. Sebastien just kept drinking.

“You help people, right? The four of you? You’ve made it your mission to help people.”

“I’m just a soldier,” Sebastien said. It was only half true, and, from the look on his face, Copley only half believed it.

“What if studying your gift could help people?”

“First of all, nobody ever said it was a gift.” Sebastien could see where this conversation was going, and it was time to leave. “Second, we’ve put a lot of work into _not_ ending up as lab rats. What makes you think we’d volunteer?”

Copley looked horrified. “I didn’t mean... I’m not suggesting you submit yourself to be experimented on.”

“Uh huh.” Standing up from the table, Sebastien loomed over Copley and told him in a low voice, “Destroy your research, and forget you ever saw our faces. Otherwise, the next time one of us pays you a visit, it’ll be a lot less friendly.”

He walked away, and that should have been the end of it. Sebastien should have quietly checked in on Copley in a month or so to make sure he wasn’t going to cause any trouble, and they both should have moved on.

They didn’t.

The best thing about passing out drunk, in Sebastien’s opinion, was that he didn’t dream. The worst thing about passing out drunk was that, once he woke up, he could never get back to sleep.

Tonight, he was lying on his back, staring up at the cracked plaster ceiling of a flat in Kiev, listening to Andy snore, and thinking about Jean Pierre.

_What if studying your gift could help people?_

If he thought it might save his baby boy even a moment of suffering, Sebastien would have let every doctor on earth flay him alive until they found an answer. Now, it would not have been necessary. Now, there were treatments to fight disease and extend life well beyond what was once possible. Now, maybe, there could be a way to understand this undying curse. Now, maybe, there was a way to make it worth something.

“Booker?”

It was Nicky’s voice. It was _always_ Nicky’s voice.

Sebastien turned his head to find Nicky watching him from the next bed, quicksilver eyes alert and searching.

“Are you alright?”

Nicky could sense spiritual turmoil like a predator sensed fear. Of course, Nicky could probably sense fear, too.

“I’m fine. Just can’t get back to sleep.”

Sebastien turned back to face the ceiling and thought, _Leave it alone, Nicky_ , as loudly as he could without actually speaking, but he knew perfectly well that Nicky was incapable of just letting anything go.

“What is on your mind?”

Eighty years ago, Sebastien would have told him, would have rolled to his side and whispered all his worries while Joe and Andy slept. For more than a century, he had told Nicky everything, and Sebastien’s soul had been lighter for it. Now, Sebastien closed his eyes and pretended not to hear.

He felt Nicky’s stare on him for another moment, then there was a sigh and a shuffling that Sebastien knew was Joe snuggling closer against Nicky’s back, sensing Nicky’s unease as surely as Nicky had sensed Sebastien’s.

Some time ago, Sebastien’s envy had taken on the flavors of jealousy and resentment. Of course, whatever he might have once felt for Nicky, he had gotten it out of his system, and the residual longing that plagued him was just loneliness. Anyone in his place would have been a little jealous of Nicky and Joe. It was to be expected that he would resent any couple who were so devoted to each other. Of course.

Once, before Arles and the Nazi camp, Sebastien had talked to Nicky about everything, but he had long since fallen out of that habit. Now, he kept his thoughts to himself, and made sure to do the same with his hands and heart.

When this job is done, Andy will say she needs a break. She will wander off, like she always does, Nicky and Joe will go home or travel or whatever, because it doesn’t matter as long as they’re together, and Sebastien will be left alone. Joe will tell him to come and stay at the Sicily house, will call to invite him when they go someplace new, but Sebastien will always politely decline, because the only thing worse than being alone is being alone with Nicky and Joe.

After two months of silent isolation, Sebastien will call Copley.

####  **Goussainville, 2019**

Right before the grenade hit him, Sebastien knew just how badly he had fucked up.

The deal was for proof and biological samples. Then, if Merrick was convinced, Sebastien would come in for testing. That was what he agreed to. That was _all_ he agreed to.

Once they were safe and settled in the cave, he sent an email to Copley demanding an explanation, wishing he could get his hands around Copley’s scrawny neck. The reply was a pile of whiny shit about how Merrick had changed the deal and it was out of Copley’s control. Sebastien nearly threw the laptop against the wall in frustration.

He ground his teeth and made himself breathe, and, after a few seconds, he wrote back, “ _I’ll bring Andy in. Let them go_.”

Copley’s reply came almost immediately. “ _I’ll see what I can do._ ”

He wanted an end to the nightmare, and he knew Andy did, too. But Nicky and Joe... They had a reason to look forward to eternity, something to fill the many long years. Sebastien wouldn’t let his selfishness be the thing to take that away from them.

####  **London, 2019**

Nicky doesn’t speak to him. 

Joe yells, Nile forgives, Andy tries to understand, but Nicky doesn’t even look at him until they are parting ways. Then, it’s a cold stare, and Sebastien can’t meet his eyes.

Sebastien wants to explain, to beg forgiveness, to say that he didn’t mean for any of this, that he would never knowingly put them in real danger. One word from Nicky, and Sebastien is sure he will fall to his knees, sobbing, confessing everything, pleading for a chance at redemption. 

But Nicky doesn’t speak to him, and Sebastien lets him go.


End file.
